


The Dressing-Room Murder

by nehemiah



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Agatha Christie - Freeform, Gen, The Lannister Boys, whodunit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-03
Updated: 2015-04-03
Packaged: 2018-03-21 02:29:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3674097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nehemiah/pseuds/nehemiah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Murderers and fic writers alike can never stop at just one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Hook

‘I really can’t believe it,’ I said for the tenth time. ‘Who’d want to kill the old boy?’

We were lounging in my brother’s apartments, digesting the story that was splashed over all of the newspapers – the shocking murder of the film star, Renly Baratheon.

The _Pictorial,_ in line with its competitors, had rushed out a special edition - but in truth they had almost nothing to print. He’d been found dead in his dressing room, and an unnnamed female admirer had been arrested. Beyond that, details were scarce. Under the headline – STAG HEART-THROB KILLED - They’d filled the page with a large picture of his face, handsome and dark-haired with a fashionable pencil moustache.

‘I don’t believe I ever had the pleasure of meeting him,’ said Tyrion, carefully replacing the paper on the coffee table.

‘I did. A few times, in passing.’ Our sister had married one of his brothers, the same poor cove who’d been shot a few months before. With all his travel and filming commitments, though, Renly didn’t have much time for family functions. ‘Seemed a pleasant man. Nobody had a bad word to say about him.’

‘Everyone has enemies, I think,’ said Tyrion, walking into his kitchen.

I turned to lean out of the window. Winter had turned into Spring, no doubt about it, and I was enjoying the long-absent warmth of the sun. I was pleasantly lost in thoughts of the country, the river, and the golf course, when my eye was caught by something off in the street below.

‘Look at that,’ I said.

Tyrion didn’t come back in. ‘Don’t tell me, brother. Another ravishing auburn-haired beauty is walking past outside.’

I didn’t think the jibe was merited. Tyrion’s romantic life consisted of semi-regular trysts with women from the continent who only went by one name, but I had the good grace not to needle him about it.

‘No,’ I replied irritably, ‘it’s a boy.’ I realised what I’d said, and continued before he could make another joke. ‘He’s hovering around outside the doors, as if he doesn’t know whether to come in.’

‘He looks scared,’ I added, after a moment.

‘The great Tyrion Lannister, babysitter,’ intoned my brother, and I heard him pass through the connecting door and out of the apartment.

Two minutes went by, and Tyrion re-entered, with his arm around the young boy I’d spotted outside. He was a ragged-looking specimen of about twelve, with an untucked shirt and a nose red from too much blowing. He gave me a fearful look.

‘It’s quite alright, lad,’ said Tyrion soothingly. ‘That’s just my brother. Jaime, this is Podrick. I think Podrick has something to tell us.’

He sniffled. ‘It’s… they’ve arrested her. They’re saying she killed him. Brienne. But she didn’t, she couldn’t have.’

We got his story out in fits and starts.

Pod, it transpired, was something of a stage-door johnny. Every Saturday (and, he blushingly admitted, on rather too many schooldays) he would take omnibus out to the film studios – Stag and Weirwood were next door to each other – and wait with a gaggle of rivals, hoping for glimpses of the stars who came back and forth every day. He liked to collect their autographs in an album – he showed us, clutched under one arm, his _Citadel Who’s Who of the Silver Screen._

‘There’s always girls, too. With us. Older girls, I mean. With make-up, and hair. They don’t want autographs, they just want to scream and pretend to faint when Loras Tyrell goes past.’

‘I see,’ I told the boy. ‘And Brienne was one of these girls?’

‘Well, no. Yes, but no.’ He shuffled his feet. ‘She wasn’t like the others. I mean, she’s tall and big and the others are more… you know. And she was only interested in Renly. He was the easiest autograph to get, because he was so nice. He’d come out and talk to us almost every day.’

‘Talk about what?’ enquired Tyrion.

‘The film he was working on, the weather, what kind of day we’d had. Anything. He was a real gent. Anyway – this was about two weeks ago - he spotted Brienne in the line. They must have already known each other,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘They were talking about the old days. Then Renly invited her backstage!’ Pod’s eyes were wide, as if he were talking about being admitted into heaven. ‘The other girls didn’t like Brienne so much, but-‘ he gave a shy little grin -‘you should have seen their faces when she walked off with Renly Baratheon, like they’d been friends for years!’

‘You don’t think she killed him, then,’ I said, unnecessarily.

‘No.’ The boy was adamant. ‘Renly gave her a job, as one of his people. She was so happy, I thought she’d burst. And she was so nice. She wouldn’t kill him, or anyone. Stands to reason. You’re a detective,’ he finished. ‘She couldn’t have.’

With his oratory concluded, the urchin simply stood there, snivelling, casting his big brown eyes at each of us in turn.

‘Alright, Podrick,’ I said. ‘Perhaps we’ll take a look into it. Come back in a week and we’ll tell you what we’ve found.’

The boy thanked me profusely and made his way out. I turned to face Tyrion’s glare.

‘You saw his face,’ I said sheepishly. ‘And it’s not like we have a great deal on at the moment. What harm could it do to go and have a look?’

‘We work for _money_ , brother. Do you think that boy is in a position to meet my completely unreasonable expenses?’ He went out to the kitchen, apparently disgusted.

I noticed that the boy had left his _Who’s Who_ on the sideboard. I flicked through it absent-mindedly, and soon found the double-page spread for the stars of Stag Studios. Renly’s portrait was centred, and largest. The other actors and actresses were arranged around him.

Margaery Tyrell, the studio’s golden girl, whose sudden engagement to Renly had caused such a stir over the last week. Her striking, curly-haired brother, Loras, whose rather wooden acting style did nothing to deter his legions of teenage admirers. Bryce Caron, tall and aristocratic-looking with a widow’s peak – an American, but one who’d purchased a landed title as some kind of private joke. Then there was his fellow countryman and inseparable friend Guy Morrigen, a more rugged-looking character who’d made his name in cowboy pictures. With smaller portraits at the foot of the page were the constellation of supporting players. Podrick, I noted with a smile, had autographs for almost every picture.

Tyrion had re-entered the room with a coffee tray while I was poring over the album.

‘A public figure like Renly,’ I said casually. ‘There’ll be a national outcry if the killer isn’t hanged. They’d better be damned sure they laid it on the right person.’

I knew what kind of things motivated my brother. As soon as I saw the flicker of interest cross his eyes, I knew that we would be on the case.

 

*

 

The police officer in charge of the district was Superintendent Tarly. Getting in to see him wasn’t anywhere near as difficult as we feared. As soon as we appeared outside the station, two constables came to clear a path for us through the milling reporters. Tarly turned out to be a tall, lean, grey-haired man in a pristine uniform, gleaming buttons and all.

‘Truth be told, I was on the point of calling you myself,’ he said, as he led us through the corridors of the station. ‘Although I would probably have brought you in through the back. You’ve given our friends outside another angle on their story.’

‘Police baffled, call upon powers of legendary detective? That sort of thing?’ Tyrion smiled.

Tarly, closing the door of his office, didn’t join in the levity. ‘So far, all the newspapers know is that I’ve taken an unnamed woman into custody. I could hardly keep that a secret. Otherwise, the less they know, the better for everyone involved.’ He gave my brother a critical look. ‘I don’t have much time for private agents, but an old colleague recommended you.’

‘Ah! You refer to the-‘ but Tyrion fell silent when Tarly raised a finger.

‘I think he’d rather not be named. He told me you have a knack for resolving puzzling situations, and that’s what I need today. In truth, the crime is straightforward. She was the only person in the room when he died. What isn’t so clear is _how_ she did it. There isn’t a mark on Renly’s body. The only bleeding was from the mouth.’

‘Has a cause of death been determined?’

‘Asphyxia, so far as our doctors can tell. But by what method? Strangulation would leave marks. Smothering might be worth looking at, but you’d expect signs of a fight. The dead man hasn’t so much a broken fingernail, and the murderess not so much as a scratch.’

He frowned at us. ‘To be sure – if we put this woman before a jury now, they’d hang her, no hesitation. _They_ wouldn’t be too worried about connecting the dots. But I’m a sworn officer of the law, and I’m not handing this over to the prosecutors until I know, to my satisfaction, _how_ and _why_. I need to establish these things quickly. The longer this goes on, the greater the outcry will be.’

Tyrion spread his hands. ‘The truth is, Superintendent, we have already been engaged in matters related to this case by another party.’ He shot me a dark look. ‘ _On the other hand_ , as that party has yet to pay our retainer, I think there is no conflict of interest. Please – tell me all that you know.’

Tarly just nodded. ‘Very well then. The crime took place first thing this morning. Renly was preparing for the day’s shooting. Around half past eight, there was a commotion from his dressing room. The co-star, Loras Tyrell, burst in – his dressing-room is next door – and he found this woman bent over Renly’s body, covered in his blood. Tyrell’s been in the station all morning, baying for _hers_.’

‘And what does the accused say?’

‘Precious little,’ grunted Tarly. ‘She’s barely said a word to us. Killer’s remorse, I expect. When Tyrell first confronted her, she told him some ridiculous story, something about a shadow…. one of her fairy-tales. If you want to hear that, you can hear it from the man himself. He’s in a room upstairs with his sister. Heaven knows how I’m going to get them out of there, with that circus outside.’

‘What about the scene of the crime? Is it preserved?’

‘Of course. I’ve got men up at Stag Studios right now. Want me to arrange a car for you?’

‘Not just yet, Superintendent. We should talk to the Tyrells, seeing as they are so providently here. And perhaps we could talk to the accused also?’

‘Shouldn’t let you do that, really,’ said Tarly. ‘I suppose it’s necessary under the circumstances. We’ve got her in a holding cell in the basement.’

‘One last thing,’ said Tyrion. ‘You said that Miss Tarth was telling tales _again_. What did you mean by that?’

‘Hm? Oh, yes. I’d seen her here once before. She came into the station last week telling stories about rape. Upset about something that had happened to her at one of Renly’s parties.’

‘And who did she accuse?’

Tarly gave Tyrion a long stare, but eventually shrugged and selected one of a dozen manila folders from his desk. ‘Here we are,’ he said, producing a tea-stained typed sheet. ‘Owen… Inchfield. An actor, of course. Lives in shared digs down in Fitzrovia.’

‘Was there any substance to the allegation?’

‘Frankly, Mister Lannister, I’m disinclined to care. I sent Miss Tarth on her way, because I think that any young woman who mixes with that crowd deserves everything she gets.’

‘Friday night,’ I put in, glancing at the report. ‘The same day Renly announced his engagement.’

‘That was the purpose of the party, so far as I can tell,’ sniffed the superintendent. ‘Any excuse, for these showbusiness people.’

‘And this is your file on Miss Tarth? Twenty years of age. Unmarried. Mother dead, father abroad, no other family. No previous criminal record. Attended Evenfall school… just like Renly.’ He handed the sheet back. ‘Well, I think we have all we need to make a start. Can you show us where you are keeping the Tyrells?’

 

*

 

The Tyrell siblings were in what appeared to be a storage room upstairs. I thought it strange that in this windowless room full of oddments of furniture and old filing cabinets, sat two of the most bankable movie stars of the day.

Margaery drew the eye first – brunette, with delicate features, and the kind of expressive, mobile mouth so common in theatrical types. She was stalking the room in an immaculate heavy-collared mink coat. Loras was clearly cast from the same mould as his sister, with long hair and fine features. He was slumped on a bench nursing a mug of something.

I recalled when I’d last seen Loras – playing Lancelot to Renly’s Arthur in a recent picture. We’d sat in the stalls stifling our laughter at the girls who sighed every time he flicked his ringlets. In truth, though, seeing him in the flesh made me wonder if his looks might have held his career back. Despite his athletic build, he was a trifle too _pretty_ to be seen as a real leading man.

My brother introduced us politely.

‘I’m very, very sorry for your loss, madam,’ he said smoothly. ‘How tragic that the fairytale wedding will never take place? And Mr Tyrell – condolences to you too. You and Renly were close friends, I gather.’

Loras nodded miserably. ‘For years. We would often… rehearse together. I’ve been looking at his body downstairs, but… I can’t believe he’s gone. I simply can’t believe it.’

‘The police tell me that you were the first on the scene.’

‘Yes. I heard some kind of scuffle, and ran across. When I looked in…’ he closed his eyes and shivered. ‘She was kneeling over his body, his blood all over her shirt. I asked her why… _why?_ ’ Loras shook his head in anger. ‘She could barely get her tongue working around those horrible teeth of hers. She stammered that the lights went out, then a shadow floated in and stabbed him.’

‘You cannot see a shadow in total darkness,’ said Tyrion thoughtfully. ‘And there were no stab wounds on the body.’

‘Of course there weren’t!’ snapped Loras. ‘She must have thought I was a fool. I was furious. I…’

‘You attacked her,’ stated Tyrion. I looked at him in surprise.

‘The bandage,’ he went on, in answer to the unspoken question. I looked down. There was, indeed, a freshly wrapped dressing on the actor’s hand. ‘The deceased has no injuries, but you do. You struggled with Miss Tarth.’

‘Not exactly,’ Loras mumbled. ‘I picked up the nearest thing – a glass, from the dressing table – and thrust it at her. It must have broken in my hand.’

‘And then?’

‘I… don’t really remember,’ said Loras uncertainly. ‘A few moments later, the others came in. Bryce, Guy, a few stagehands. They separated us, and I suppose someone called the police. ’

‘While you were in the corridor, on your way to Renly’s dressing room, did you see anyone else?’

‘Like a shadow, you mean?’ he asked scornfully. ‘No!’

Margaery reached across and took her brother’s hand. ‘We’re all shocked by what’s happened,’ she said, with a concerned glance at us.

‘Perhaps you can help me with something, Miss Tyrell? I’m most curious to know what happened at this engagement party of yours,’ said Tyrion.

‘Well… yes.’ For the first time I’d seen, Margaery looked awkward. She glanced at her brother. ‘We were worried that might have been the reason… well.’ She sighed. ‘Brienne was infatuated with Renly. Everyone knew that. We all felt rather sorry for her.’

‘Speak for yourself,’ said Loras.

‘Brienne isn’t much of a one for parties, really, but Renly wanted her to be there in person when we made the announcement. Letting her down gently, you know? She ran off crying, and – I meant to go and console her. I was cornered by some annoying person and couldn’t shake them off for a while. I don’t think I saw Brienne again all night. She must have left.’

‘And feeling spurned, in a fury, she killed Renly the next time they were alone,’ finished Loras with a hiss. ‘All the kindness, the pity, he showed her. That’s how she repaid him.’

‘A fury,’ said Tyrion thoughtfully. ‘And yet the police tell us there was no sign of a struggle. Tell me – what was the nature of Miss Tarth’s employment under Renly?’

‘A kind of… valet, I suppose,’ mused Margaery. ‘She drove him around, dealt with his fan letters, helped him dress and prepare for his scenes. She was around him all the time, really. I swear she was seeing more of him than I was.’

‘One last question, perhaps,’ said Tyrion. ‘You know the police are uncertain as to how exactly Renly was killed. That is why they have called me in. How do _you_ think it happened?’

Loras frowned. ‘She’s a great beast of a woman. She could have overpowered him, I think. To think of her choking him to death in those arms of hers…’ his face crumpled, and he looked like he was going to burst into tears.

‘I must ask you to leave now,’ said Margaery firmly, gathering her brother in her arms. ‘ _Please_.’

‘I am most grateful for your time,’ said Tyrion, and with a final bow, he led me out of the room, and left the siblings to their grieving.

‘Strange thing,’ I said, once we were safely out of earshot. ‘He looked more upset than she did.’

‘Most enlightening,’ was all my brother said. ‘Now, we talk to Miss Tarth herself.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Bryce Caron' is precisely the kind of name Christie would have given to a colourful, rich American who bought an English aristocratic title. That character wrote itself.


	2. The First Day

The Superintendent led us to the basement in person, flanked by two of his men. The holding cell was at the end of the corridor, furthest from the steps. Tarly pulled back the doorplate and looked in. Around him, I caught a glimpse of a large, hunched figure in the far corner of the cell.

‘Right then,’ he said sharply, and nodded for a constable to unlock the heavy metal door. It swung open with a menacing groan, and I had my first clear sight of Brienne Tarth.

I’d seen women with short hair and boyish style before – it had been something of a craze among the young things in town a few years previously – but none of _those_ women were over six feet and built like stevedores. I couldn’t see anything of her face under an untidy mess of blonde hair. She was wearing a straight-line chemise – spattered with dried blood- and men’s trousers.

She was squatting down at the foot of her bunk. One of her wrists was chained to a pipe on the wall.

‘Is that really necessary?’ I wondered.

‘She’s a killer,’ said Tarly flatly. ‘And she fought with Tyrell. Granted, she hasn’t tried anything since we took her in. Better to be careful, though. Gentlemen - she’s all yours.’

Once Tarly had retired, Tyrion advanced halfway across the cell and bent down a little, so that his eyes were level with hers.

‘Miss Tarth?’ he asked gently.

She raised her head a little, but that was all.

‘Miss Tarth,’ he repeated. ‘My name is Tyrion Lannister. This is my brother, Jaime.’

Finally she looked up. A large hand came up to clear her hair out of the way. I could see a mass of freckles, a large, broken, nose, and a jagged scar on her cheek.

She glanced at Tyrion, then at me, with a pair of surprisingly pretty blue eyes. Then she turned her attention back to the cell floor.

‘Did you kill Renly?’

‘No.’ Her reply was instant and adamant.

‘You were the only person in the room with him,’ probed Tyrion.

For a moment her mouth worked, all crooked teeth and thick lips, then she fell still again. After a few seconds, it was clear she wasn’t going to say anything.

‘You told Loras that you saw a shadow.’

‘Yes.’

‘And the lights went out.’

‘Yes.’

‘Some would say that you cannot see _anything_ in darkness – least of all a shadow.’

‘Felt it,’ she said indistinctly. Her voice sounded dry and scratchy. ‘Something passed by me. A dark shape.’

‘And this shadowy figure stabbed Renly?’

She nodded, eyes now fixed on Tyrion.

‘There were no stab wounds on the body, Miss Tarth.’

She made no response.

‘He only bled from the mouth,’ Tyrion went on. ‘After the lights came back up, what happened?’

‘He fell,’ she rasped. ‘Into me. He said… he said… he was cold. He was rigid, already… then Loras was there…’

‘And he gave you _that,_ ’ I said, indicating the scar.

She shifted position, the movement accompanied by the clink of the chain.

‘You know the gravity of your situation, Miss Tarth. _Everyone_ is certain that you committed this crime. You will most likely be hung.’

She was staring at the floor again.

‘Can you tell us anything about the events of that morning, before the murder? Were you with him all the time?’

‘I… was with him all morning. I drove him in.’

‘Did Renly have any visitors?’ continued Tyrion patiently.

‘One. A woman in red.’

‘What did they talk about?’

‘I don’t know. He sent me away. For the post.’

Tyrion gave a sigh, and straightened up. ‘That will do for now. Thank you, Miss Tarth. I think we will be seeing each other again.’ He paused in the doorway. ‘Is there anyone you would like us to contact for you? Your father, for instance?’

‘No,’ she said, in a barely audible whisper. ‘I don’t want him to know.’

She gave each of us one more long look before the policemen ushered us out of the cell.

 

Three minutes later, we were in a quiet courtyard outside the rear entrance of the station.

Tyrion turned to me. ‘First impressions?’

‘Perplexing,’ was all I said. ‘The strange thing is, I believe her.’

He gave me a sharp look. ‘Why?’

‘I… don’t know,’ I admitted sheepishly. ‘She lacks the wits to be a liar, I suppose. If she meant to make up a lie, a child could have come up with a better one.’

‘True,’ Tyrion replied, and gave a wry smile. ‘Though I doubt Tarly will have her released on the strength of that assessment. Let us go back to the beginning - the scene of the crime.’

On cue, the car Tarly had spoken of rumbled around the corner toward us.

 

*

 

At Stag Studios, on the edge of town, there were already floral tributes being left outside the great ornate gates. We were ushered into the backstage areas without fuss. I saw two familiar faces waiting outside the police line – the elegant Bryce Caron, and the burly Guy Morrigen.

‘It’s a shame, it’s a damn shame,’ offered Caron when we introduced ourselves. He gave me a firm handshake. ‘Call me Bryce. This is Guy.’

‘Guy Morrigen. A damn shame,’ agreed the other.

‘But you are the _Viscount_ Caron, I believe?’

‘Yeah,’ he said with a hint of amusement. I could tell he enjoyed telling the story. ‘My friends were teasing me. They said I looked like a lord, and acted like I was one, so I might as well _be_ one. Nobody told me you were so sniffy about things over here. You can have a title, and a big old house, and a stable full of horses, and they still treat you like a servant who came to the wrong door.’

‘You here with the police?’ rasped Morrigen.

‘The police have kindly given me leave to investigate the matter. The two of you were on the scene just after Loras?’ enquired Tyrion.

‘Oh yeah. He was seeing red, I don’t think he even heard us trying to talk him down. Mind you, I think that girl could tie him up like a pretzel if she got a mind to. Lucky for him, I think her mind was elsewhere.’

‘She didn’t seem angry?’ I asked.

‘No,’ said Morrigen. ‘Just… upset. In shock.’

‘We’ve come to see the murder scene,’ announced Tyrion. ‘If the two of you aren’t busy, perhaps you could guide us around?’

They consented, and we quickly found our way to the corridor outside Renly’s dressing room. The constable on guard had clearly been briefed to expect us, and stood aside to let us in.

Tyrion hesitated, and stopped to look at an electric junction-box on the wall outside.

Guy followed his gaze and laughed. ‘You know what actors are like. We all need lights around our mirrors. They had to rewire this whole wing of the building.’

Half of Renly’s dressing room was occupied by racks of clothes. He had a luxurious chaise longue, a dressing table covered in lighted mirrors, and a full-length mirror off to one side. In one corner was a small desk with a chair – judging by the papers stacked up, that was where Miss Tarth had done most of her work.

‘The body was here, by the standing mirror,’ said Caron. ‘He must have been checking out his costume, while she helped.’ He grimaced. ‘Look at that. Still some of his blood on the carpet.’

‘Jeez. Enough to make you shiver,’ said Guy.

I walked over to have a closer look at the dressing table. Occupying one side of the top were some pots of flesh-coloured make-up. I sniffed at one, and turned questioningly to Caron.

‘Oh, we all use it, Captain Lannister. You’d be amazed how lousy natural skin looks from behind a camera. Something to do with the lighting, I guess.’

Behind the make-up jars, I had spotted something small and square. I picked it up gingerly. ‘Matchbox.’ I shook it, and handed it to Tyrion with a shrug. ‘Empty. I don’t know why he didn’t throw it away.’

‘Hm,’ said Caron pensively. That’s a little weird. Renly didn’t smoke. Ah, wait now – it may have belonged to Melisandre. You know, the brother’s mistress? She was at Renly’s party, smoked liked a chimney the whole time. She was here this morning too. We saw her leaving as we came in.’

‘Wearing red?’ I asked, and the actor nodded. I tried to give Tyrion a look, but he seemed preoccupied fiddling with the matchbox.

‘Madame d’Asshai is some kind of occultist, I understand,’ he mused.

‘Yeah,’ Caron said disapprovingly. ‘All that Alistair Crowley tripe. Hard to believe Stannis has any patience with it. Mind you – I daresay her beliefs aren’t what hooked him. That woman’s a _knockout_.’

‘Ten out of ten,’ clarified Morrigen, with a whistle.

‘So they say,’ said Tyrion diffidently. ‘Did Stannis and Melisandre stay at the party long?’

‘Hell no. They said their piece and left before the party even got rolling. Stannis went out with a face like thunder. Though I understand that’s pretty normal for him.’

‘They _argued_?’ I said, suddenly interested.

‘Ah, look. I can tell you didn’t really know Renly. He never argued with _anyone_. Even when people were being impossible, he kept his good humour. Even so… he was laughing, making some joke as Stannis left, but… maybe there was a chilliness in the eyes? I knew the guy as well as anyone. You learn to see the little tells, you know?’

‘Was anyone else around the studios this morning?’

‘The place was quiet. Only one picture in production, and most of us aren’t exactly early risers. Wait a sec, though.’ said Caron. ‘There _was_ someone in the corridor – thin, with one of those fussy little beards. Looked like a real greasy piece of work. Figured he was an agent or something.’

‘That guy?’ said Morrigen suddenly. ‘Had black hair, going grey at the temples? He was at the party, Bryce, didn’t you see him?’

‘Was he talking to Renly?’ asked Tyrion casually.

‘No, he was hanging around Margaery. Looked to be getting on her nerves, too.’

‘Well, well,’ said Tyrion, seemingly to himself. Then he turned to the two actors. ‘Thank you both for your help. I think we’ve seen all we need to see.’

Bryce and Guy shared a glance, and the former cleared his throat.

‘Uh, look,’ he said. ‘We’re holding a kind of wake, two nights from now. Renly wasn’t one for solemn ritual, you know? He wouldn’t have wanted us to be trooping around in black with long faces. It’s going to be more of a celebration. I offered the use of my place - Nightsong. It’s about an hour’s drive out of town. You guys are related to Renly, by marriage at least – I think it’d be nice if some of his family showed up.’

Tyrion thanked them noncommittally, and we said our goodbyes.

I turned back to look at the mismatched pair. ‘You know,’ I said, ‘there’s a rumour going around that two Stag actors are… a little more than friends?’

‘That wouldn’t surprise me in the least,’ said Tyrion. ‘And I did notice you trying to catch my eye in there. You are interested in the red woman, no?’

‘Well… yes. She’s tight with Stannis, and _he_ might be the one person who had a grudge against Renly.’

I was referring to the business we’d been so wrapped up in a few months previously - the untimely death of Robert Baratheon. Most of his estate had passed to his eldest son, but both brothers – Renly and Stannis – had challenged the will in the courts.

‘Of course we must talk to Madame d’Asshai,’ said Tyrion. ‘It interests me, brother – you are so willing to believe Miss Tarth that you are already casting around for other suspects! No, don’t say anything – just my little joke. Come – we have one more trip to make today.’

 

*

 

It was almost dusk when we arrived at the address Tarly had given us. The area was pleasant, though perhaps one that had seen better days. Paint flaked off under my hand when I rapped sharply on the door.

A nondescript young man opened the door a crack and peered out at us.

‘Mr Owen Inchfield?’ enquired Tyrion.

The man frowned. ‘Owen? He’s not here. He’s up at St. Talisa’s.’

‘And who are you, sir?’

‘I’m Hyle Hunt. What’s this about?’

‘You know that Mr Inchfield has been accused of attempting to rape a woman?’

‘Ah,’ said Hunt. ‘Is this about Miss Tarth? At the party? Look, you’d… you’d better come in.’

Hunt was at least partially dressed, in shirtsleeves and braces. A handsome man with black slicked-back hair, introduced to us as Edmund Ambrose, was still in his dressing gown. The flat was miserably untidy, and Hunt had to wash up cups to offer us tea. It wasn’t hard to guess that Inchfield and his friends weren’t enjoying the same success as Renly.

‘We mostly play bit parts,’ Ambrose told us. ‘Sometimes the studio puts us in a different film every day… but the money’s still better than the stage.’

The conversation soon turned to the night of the party.

‘Look,’ Hunt was explaining, ‘we didn’t mean any harm by it. We’d seen the poor girl shambling around Renly those last couple of weeks, and decided to start a little sport at her expense. Edmund had the idea. A guinea to enter, and the whole pot to whoever first planted a kiss on her lips.’ He looked a little shamefaced. ‘It was just a game, to pass the time.’

Ambrose, stretched out on the settee, rolled his eyes. ‘Yes. Well thank you for reminding everyone that it was my idea, darling. _You’re_ the one who made the first play.’

Hunt nodded. ‘Renly struck his glass for silence, and made his announcement. Everyone applauded – picture Renly and Margaery standing there, basking in it, _glowing_ \- but out of the corner of my eye, I could see Miss Tarth dashing to the powder room. Of course we all knew about her crush on Renly, so I thought… well, here’s an opportunity. I went in and tried to give her a consoling shoulder.’

‘And she gave you the cold shoulder,’ laughed Edmund. ‘She re-emerged eventually, and we all took our turns.’

‘All?’ asked Tyrion. ‘Who else was party to this game?’

‘Hm? Oh, the whole crowd, really. The men, anyway. Not Renly, of course. I don’t think Bryce paid in either. You’d have thought he’d want to take part, given that business with his brother.’

‘Business?’ said Tyrion sharply.

‘She was engaged to Bryce’s younger brother,’ supplied Ambrose. ‘But there was some kind of spat, and they broke it off. The poor boy gassed himself six months later. I suppose Bryce blames her, but well... have you _seen_ the girl? I think he’d be more inclined to suicide if the marriage _had_ gone through.’

‘Indeed,’ said Tyrion in neutral tones. ’You were saying about your wager?’

‘Yes. Hyle tried sympathy, I tried flowers… none of us had any luck. Then Owen wanted in.’

Hunt took up the tale, looking uncomfortable. ‘Owen said we were fools for beating around the bush so much, and that he intended to win the prize directly. He’s always been… forward. Too much of the white powder, you know. So he marched straight in, grabbed her, and took her into a room. I don’t think he was going to settle for a kiss, either.’

‘And then what happened?’ I asked, feeling my gorge rising.

‘I got to the doorway in time to see him sprawled on the floor. She’d redecorated his head with a bronze lamp stand.’ He gave a rueful chuckle. ‘There but for the grace of God go I, eh? She was in a real state, crying again, and she pushed straight past me and ran out. I helped Owen onto his feet and took him home.’ He picked up his cigarette from the ashtray. ‘He didn’t want to go to hospital, but Edmund nagged him until he gave in.’

‘Do you think she killed Renly?’ Tyrion asked them in closing.

‘Who else?’ said Edmund, with a shrug.

Hyle stood in the kitchen doorway, scratching his head. ‘I… don’t know. I’d say she wasn’t a violent person, but you’ve just heard a story about her being provoked to attack a man with a lampstand.’ He looked blankly at Tyrion. ‘Do they have any other suspects? Is she really going to hang?’

It was almost a pleasure to leave him without answers.

*

 

‘Well,’ said Tyrion, as we stood outside in the gathering darkness. ‘A productive first day. I suggest, for tomorrow, we divide our energies. I will telegram to Stannis in the morning and arrange an interview with his mistress. Then I will make a few related enquiries around town. ‘

‘And me?’

‘You’re going back to school, brother. Catch the early train to Evenfall, and see what you can learn there.’

I readily agreed.


	3. The Second Day

Evenfall wasn’t one of the great schools, but it was old and had a decent sporting reputation. This, I contemplated, was where both Renly and Brienne had got their start in life. The boys’ and girls’ schools adjoined one another, and shared staff and facilities.

Asking for the Headmaster, I was directed to the playing fields, where a rugby match was underway. The red-and-blue quartered shirts of Evenfall were taking on the yellow stripes of Lonmouth – but it didn’t take long for both sides to be almost indistinguishable under spatterings of dark mud. Watching the game excitably, his dark robes flapping around him, was a hefty red-bearded man who introduced himself as Cortnay Penrose.

‘We’re having a special assembly,’ he told me first. ‘To commemorate Renly. Always sad to lose an old boy, especially one like him. He was our Head Boy for a year.’

‘What kind of student was he?’ I wondered.

‘Good academics, of course. Half-decent at games, wanted be in involved in all of the extra-curriculars too… above all, he loved the stage. He was playing the lead in our Shakespeares while he was still in his third year. It was a gift! But…’ he frowned, as an Evenfall lock gave away possession.

‘ _That_ wouldn’t have happened if Goodwin was still sports master. So hard to find good staff nowadays. Hm. Where was I? Yes, Renly. The thing with him was… the paper reports won’t tell you the whole story. He just had a _charisma_ about him. Pure likeability. Never ruffled, always pleasant… I think _that_ was his real gift, never mind the acting.’

‘Lots of friends, then?’

‘Everyone was his friend. Well tackled, that boy!’ he called out piercingly.

‘Even Brienne Tarth?’

He looked at me in surprise. ‘Now why on _earth_ would you be sniffing around her?’

I couldn’t see any point in dissembling. ‘She was there when Renly died. She’s been arrested and stands to be charged with the murder.’

He blew out a long, incredulous breath. ‘The mystery admirer was Tarth. That’s a kick in the teeth, I don’t mind telling you. Well. To answer your question – yes, they were knew each other. He was two years above her, but I think they were friends. As I say, Renly was everyone’s friend. But for a girl like Tarth, that was… hm. She had a hard time here, you know.’

‘Roelle – that’s our late headmistress - had her held back a year. Nonsensical decision, to my mind, but she had the final say over matters relating to the girls’ school. I recall that Tarth’s academics were good. History, Languages, both solid, Literature, excellent. But Roelle got it into her head that Tarth was a slow learner. Imagine, for a girl of her size to be placed in dormitories and classrooms with girls from the year below. Made her feel completely out of place, I daresay. And young girls can be cruel, Captain. I fear she was the butt of a lot of jokes.’

‘It can’t have been all bad,’ I said. ‘She must have been a terror on the hockey pitch.’

‘Well, yes, that’s true. Out here, she could forget about it all and do what she loved. But you can’t spend your whole life on a sports field. When she wasn’t out here, she was mostly hiding in the library. The pastoral side of this job can be so difficult. You want to do more for some pupils, but you can’t be _seen_ to favour them – you could end up making things worse.’

‘They spent time together – but he had a thousand chums, and she might only have had the one. Not the ideal circumstances for a healthy friendship. Oh, blow it,’ he said, with a glance at me. ‘There’s no point dancing around the issue. She loved him – a blind man could see it. I’ll believe he was killed by Banquo’s ghost before I believe he was killed by Brienne.’

As we paced the length of the pitch, a Lonmouth boy had broken free of the pack and scored.

‘Oh, look at that,’ he mumbled. ‘We might as well let girls join the team. Tarth would have done better than these whelps. She had a brother, you know. He went here too. Another talented athlete. Died before his time.’

The referee sounded the half-time whistle, and Penrose gave me his full attention for the first time. ‘You were a Westland boy, weren’t you? We’re taking on their rowing team next week.’

‘Yes. My younger nephew’s there now.’ I realised, with a touch of guilt, that I hadn’t written to Tommen for a while.

Penrose had stopped under a tree that was covered in early blossom. ‘I never had a family,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘But when one of my students dies, I think that’s an echo – just an echo – of what it’s like to lose a child. Captain, I think I’ve lost enough children for one lifetime.’

‘Brienne’s father hasn’t been informed,’ I said uncertainly. ‘At her request. ’

‘Respect it,’ he advised. ‘What else can be done? She wants to spare him worry, and that is laudable – but I fear the shock will be greater, in the end.’

 

*

 

I took a cab from the station to Tyrion’s apartments, and apprised him of my discoveries.

‘Not a wasted morning, then,’ he said, taking a seat opposite me. ‘For my part. I’ve had a most interesting conversation with Margaery Tyrell. And another one with Madame Shae.’

‘Oh, really, Tyrion,’ I protested. ‘This is hardly the time for one of your trysts.’

He just laughed. ‘All business, I assure you, Jaime. Then I went to the library, to withdraw a few important texts.’ There were a few books on the sideboard, mostly old and battered with unfamiliar characters on the spines. ‘Where to begin? How about with the shady man Bryce and Guy both saw? He answers the description of Petyr Baelish – a known moneylender, and, less well-known, a blackmailer. _He_ is the annoying guest who cornered Miss Tyrell at the party.’

‘Blackmailing Margaery Tyrell?’ I wondered. ‘I can’t believe she has any skeletons in her closet.’

‘If there are any, she has been most deft in keeping them there. The skeleton that concerns us is attached to Renly, not Margaery.’

‘Renly and Loras were engaged in a homosexual affair. Margaery, loving sister that she is, had no problem with this. She even agreed to enter a sham marriage with Renly. It suited all parties. It would answer any lingering questions about Renly’s romantic life, and be a source of lucrative publicity for both the bride and groom. The two lovers could continue their meetings discreetly – nobody would think it strange, a man spending time around his sister and his closest friend.’

‘Good God,’ was all I could say.

‘Baelish – a well informed man, by professional necessity - got wind of this, and attempted to prise more information out of Margaery. She is, however, an intelligent and composed young woman. Baelish left without much to show for his efforts.’

‘So he went to try his luck blackmailing Renly instead!’ I declared. ‘You’d expect the blackmailer to be the one who ends up dead in that situation… still, if Renly reacted angrily, if there was a struggle, it could have gone either way.’

‘No, brother, it could not. Because _Baelish was never there_. I made a call to my dear friend Shae, and it turns out that one of her associates can _personally_ vouch for Petyr Baelish’s whereabouts at the time of the murder. Unless he has the ability to travel between two places at supersonic speed, he was not at the studios.’

‘He was seen,’ I said, suddenly doubtful.

‘Seen by two people – the gateman and Lord Caron – neither of whom were personally acquainted with Baelish. And it strikes me that a film studio is an excellent place to obtain materials for a disguise.’

‘So the killer posed as Baelish, to throw suspicion away from himself.’ I tried to digest what I had just learned. ‘But… only someone who was at the party that night would have known that Baelish was on Renly’s trail at all.’ Tyrion gave me an approving nod.

‘That’s it!’ I cried. ‘ _Loras_ could be the killer. He’s a very… emotional sort. And he was on the scene after the murder suspiciously quickly. He was jealous of the amount of time Brienne was spending around Renly. He thought he’d been replaced.’

‘It is possible,’ said Tyrion placidly. ‘Yet if his grief in the police station was feigned, he is a more skilled actor than people give him credit for.’

We were interrupted by three sharp knocks at the door.

‘Ah!’ announced Tyrion. ‘Madame d’Asshai is punctual. I know she is of interest to you, but… follow my lead on this, brother.’

I was a little tired of following Tyrion’s lead, but had no time to protest as he turned and made his way out into the hall.

‘Please come in, Madame,’ I heard him say. ‘Thank you for travelling down to see us.’

I stood up out of polite habit, but the sight of the woman who sashayed into the room before Tyrion almost knocked me back into my chair. Melisandre d’Asshai had long red hair, a figure-hugging red dress, and air of complete confidence. She was smoking from a long black cigarette holder.

She saw me and laughed, a rich and surprisingly deep sound. ‘Why, Captain Lannister. You seem quite overcome.’

Tyrion waved her toward a chair. ‘Please, Madame d’Asshai. You strike me as the kind of woman who will appreciate a direct enquiry. You have been pursuing an extramarital affair with Stannis Baratheon for most of the last year.’

She didn’t even blink. ‘That is true. But I am not just his lover - I am his herald. He is the reincarnation of Ra-Hoor-Khuit. One of the Great Ones has returned to walk among us, and I have devoted my life to advancing his interests in this world.’

‘Does Selyse know about all of this?’ I asked.

‘She does,’ replied Melisandre. ‘An utterly weak and submissive creature. She raises no objection – partly because she regards me with a kind of awe, and partly because she can see that her husband flourishes in my company.’

‘You do not fear a scandal, then?’ wondered Tyrion.

‘Public opinion does not concern me. _“Do what thou wilt, shall be the whole of the law,”’_ she added.

Tyrion gave a little smile. ‘Ah yes – that comes from your _Book of the Law_ , no?’ He reached for one of the tattered books I had seen. ‘I have been studying your texts, Madame d’Asshai. I found it most interesting reading.’

‘And yet, you still do not believe,’ she said, looking unimpressed. ‘I can see the doubt hanging over you.’

Tyrion gave a modest shrug. ‘I am, when it comes down to it, a little man who asks questions. How can I escape doubt? But – though you claim to adhere to a higher set of laws, you must set some stock in our commonplace ones. You have, for example, retained a firm of solicitors to challenge Robert’s will.’

‘Yes,’ she said, after a long draw on her cigarette. ‘The son is unfit to inherit. Stannis is the rightful heir. And as for Renly - an elder brother comes before a younger. On that point, our Law and yours are in accordance.’

‘And yet, Renly’s success means that he can afford lawyers of his own – extraordinary ones. You and I might agree that he has no claim, but… who can predict how things will turn out? That must have been a concern for Stannis.’

She gave a slow nod.

‘So,’ persisted Tyrion, ‘you went to his engagement party. To warn him off.’

‘To give him a chance,’ corrected Melisandre sharply. ‘Of course he invited us to his party. Stannis has little patience with Renly’s set, and I am inclined to agree. They are like so many children, with their infantile games. He went all the same, to ask his brother to withdraw his own challenge to the will. A warning, but one in the most generous terms. Alas – Renly believed that his money was the answer to every question.’

‘He rebuffed your generous offer,’ summarised Tyrion. ‘But you went to see him once more, without Stannis, at his studio. To give him another chance?’

‘I did not go back for _that_. He had been given enough chances. I went to his dressing room to remove him.’

I sucked in a deep breath, and Melisandre gave me an amused look, but my brother continued before she could interrupt.

‘As I thought. My attention was caught by this item, on Renly’s dressing table. An unusual possession for a man who had never smoked.’ He produced the matchbox from his pocket, and turned it inside out to reveal a curious design pencilled in red. ‘You will forgive me if I am mistaken, Madame d’Asshai – I am still no expert in these matters – but I believe this to be one of your pentagrams?’

Her lips curved into an indulgent smile. ‘Indeed. The Ritual of Banishment. A crude form of magick, but effective. Renly was an obstacle to the Greater Will, so he was removed. I performed the ritual myself. It required me to leave a token in his presence, and so I did. I went to see him, on the pretext of asking him to reconsider before we departed.’

Tyrion nodded. ‘You delivered the ‘token’, and the ritual took effect precisely one hour later, just as your Book says. Renly died suddenly, mysteriously, without a mark or a drop of blood being shed.’

Melisandre’s smile had not changed. ‘You have knowledge – but knowledge is nothing without Belief. You are still lost in the darkness, Tyrion Lannister. You think you have found a truth – but what can you do with it?’

For a moment my brother looked even smaller than usual. He stared at the ground. ‘Nothing,’ he admitted finally. ‘How can I tell the police that the murder was committed by means of a magic spell? I will be lucky if they only laugh at me. Even if they attempt to prosecute, it will be thrown out of court. I must congratulate you, Madame d’Asshai – someone else will hang for your murder. You have escaped consequences completely.’

Melisandre laughed that rich, fulsome laugh again, and stood up. ‘Then we have no further business. I thank you both for your time.’ She bent to retrieve her cigarette holder, and smoothed the creases of her scarlet dress. ’Small men – of whatever size – cannot stand in the way of Destiny.’

In another moment, she had swept out of the apartment.

‘Good God, Tyrion,’ I said, when I felt my power of speech had returned. ‘Do you really credit any of that? Do – do you really mean to let her get away with murder? You could at least-‘

He held up a hand to silence me.

‘I intend to do _nothing_ , brother. Not because I am impotent – a ridiculous idea! – but because _she is not the killer_.’

‘Did you hear what he said? I told her Renly died precisely one hour after her visit – in fact it was two hours and seventeen minutes. Less portentous, but more accurate. And I told her that there was no blood. She didn’t bat an eyelid. I am satisfied that Madame d’Asshai knows nothing of the circumstances of Renly’s death.’

‘She _confessed_ ,’ I said in exasperation.

‘Oh, perhaps she _believes_ she killed Renly. What of it? I can take you to a hospital and introduce you to half a dozen men who believe they are emperors. _I_ would sooner believe that that remarkable lady is deluded, than believe that the murder was committed by supernatural means.’ He took up one of the tomes from the sideboard. ‘Of course I had no patience with this ragbag of mystical nonsense. The Ritual of Purification, indeed.’

‘Thank goodness,’ I said, reassured. I looked at the matchbox again. ‘Imagine Tarly’s face if you told him _this_ was the murder weapon. How is it supposed to work, anyway? If there are other people in the room, how does it know which one is the intended victim?’

Tyrion had a faraway look in his eyes. ‘Yes. That, also, is something to consider.’

 

*

 

That night, we made our second visit to Brienne Tarth. This time, we were given an interview room, with a plain grey table and three uncomfortable metal chairs. Brienne was led in between two constables, handcuffed.

She looked a little better than the previous day, I thought – perhaps she’d slept. She’d also been given a change of clothes, and sat opposite us in a shapeless grey shirt.

Tyrion had insisted on bringing a stack of old newspapers in with him, and been tight-lipped as to their significance. He sat up in his chair, and cleared his throat.

‘Now, Miss Tarth. I am going to ask you some questions. Some of them, you might consider impertinent. All the same, I would prefer you to answer truthfully and completely. Do you agree?’

‘I seem to have no other pressing engagements,’ she said, with a tiny upward kink of her lips.

‘You were in love with Renly Baratheon,’ declared Tyrion.

She didn’t reply, but her face coloured.

‘That is widely believed to be your motive for the killing. The news of his engagement to Margaery sent you into a possessive rage. Did you know about the engagement before it was announced?’

‘I… suspected something was happening,’ she admitted. ‘In the week leading up to the party, there were a great deal of letters and telegrams from Highgarden. I didn’t know for sure. He didn’t confide in me.’

‘So you found out at the party, with everyone else. And, to compound what must have been a distressing evening for you, you were the subject of a gentlemen’s wager.’

‘I know about that,’ she said, mouth twitching in anger. ‘I expected better from his friends. Perhaps that was naïve.’

Silence unfolded.

‘You don’t have much to say to me, Miss Tarth. Let us try a subject you might be more forthcoming on - your past. I understand that you competed in the Summer Games two years ago.’

I looked up at her with renewed interest. ‘Oh, really? Which events?’

Tyrion produced a newspaper from his bundle. One of the inside pages bore a photograph of a group of young sportsmen and women outside a stadium. I immediately recognised Brienne, standing at the back left. She apparently hadn’t changed much in two years, although in the photo she was wearing a tight white shirt and gymnastic shorts. I shifted position in my seat.

‘The… breaststroke, freestyle, and the discus,’ she had hesitantly continued. ‘I didn’t get out of the heats.’

‘By narrow margins,’ observed Tyrion, running his finger along a column of statistics. ‘You, barely out of school, against women – champions! – with ten years more experience.’

She blushed again. I could tell she was unaccustomed to praise.

My brother had turned his attention back to the picture. ‘But… my eye was drawn by the young man, kneeling at the front here?’ He raised an eyebrow. I looked again, and saw a fair-haired, freckled youth grinning for the camera.

‘My brother,’ she said finally.

‘I understand he is no longer with us?’

She swallowed hard. ‘He drowned. A few weeks after we got home from the Games, Father took us away on a holiday, and… we were swimming in the bay… I didn’t see it happen. Everyone said the tides were treacherous.’

‘You have my condolences. And after that, you gave up on your athletic career?’

‘I haven’t competed in a while, that’s all,’ she mumbled. ‘I wanted to be with Father, after… after what happened.’

‘Quite understandable,’ said Tyrion. He moved the newspaper aside, and replaced it with another, open at the society pages. ‘Now – you were once betrothed. To the brother of Lord Bryce Caron.’

She blinked, but nodded, apparently unfazed by the rapid change of subject.

‘Was it a love match?’ he continued.

‘Arranged,’ said Brienne. ‘Father said it was about time I was married off. Jokingly, I suppose. He was friends with Bryce’s father.’

‘How is it that you did not wed?’

She looked at all four walls, and the floor, before answering.

‘You've done your research,’ she said reluctantly. ‘You will probably have heard that I have always been… shy. I never had much in the way of social graces. He came to Father’s house to see me, and, and – I was supposed to give a speech, welcoming him, and expressing my hopes for our marriage, but- but-‘ she trailed off for a minute, the pain of the recollection evident on her face.

‘I couldn’t speak. I might as well have bitten off my tongue. I could only stare at him, helplessly, feeling foolish – and then I looked up into his eyes. With hindsight, I know what I saw there. He had never been keen on the engagement. Since his first look at me, he’d been looking for excuses to break it off. My silence gave him what he needed. He put it about that I had refused to greet him, and thus done him an insult.’

‘At the time, I blamed myself. My own stupid fault for driving him away. Who would ever want a girl who can’t even talk? Now… I think it may have been for the best. I realise now I didn’t truly hurt his feelings, and he never cared about mine either way. I suppose I must marry sooner or later,’ she said, without much conviction. ‘One man is as good as any other… but I would rather not be matched with a man who actively resents me.’

She lapsed back into silence. It was the longest piece I’d heard her say.

‘You know the man killed himself?’ asked Tyrion.

‘Yes,’ said Brienne simply. ‘I heard. Did you expect me to blame myself? This may sound chilly to you, but – I told you. He never cared about me. Whatever problems he had, the failure of our betrothal was not one of them. It did _not_ cause him any grief.’

She took a deep breath and drew herself up. ‘And _that_ is why your estimation of my motive is mistaken. I always knew, deep down, that Renly would never love… someone like me. His engagement was a shock to me, but the truth is that I had no hope to lose.’

I had an urge to speak up and tell her the truth about Renly’s preferences, but I feared that would only make her feel more of a fool.

Tyrion smiled at her last reply. ‘That is precisely the kind of answer I was hoping for. My brother has been convinced of your innocence for some time, and I believe I am now in agreement with him.’

Her eyes flickered to me again.

‘Our concern is that others will be harder to convince. The only way to have you freed would be to produce the real murderer. That, I am afraid, is a problem I am struggling with.’

Brienne closed her eyes. ‘If – if things –‘ she shook her head and started again. ‘If I am sentenced to death – please ensure that my remains are sent to my father. Try to explain to him. Can I ask that favour of you?’

‘Of course,’ I said, unthinkingly.

‘Indeed,’ added Tyrion after a moment, ‘though we must try our utmost to avoid that outcome, yes? You cannot be released – but perhaps the Superintendent will permit something else.’


	4. The Wake

Nightsong was another of Lord Caron’s little jokes – it was named after the sinister Count he’d played in a successful horror picture a few years previously. From the outside, it was neo-Gothic and ominous. Inside, it was pure Moderne, and didn’t lack for mod cons.

Staff ushered us through to the large living room, where most of the guests had gathered. Renly’s coffin was lying, open, on one side of the room, half-covered in flowers. Margaery and Loras were standing over the body, conversing in whispers, and I recognised Hunt and Ambrose in another group in the corner. All the guests were in evening dress, and the atmosphere wasn’t terribly funereal. An expensive-looking phonograph was cranking out jazz, and champagne was being served.

‘The Lannister Boys!’ cried a voice from behind us, and we turned to greet our host.

‘Thank you for inviting us, Lord Caron,’ said Tyrion, as we all shook hands.

‘Bryce, _please_. We’ve got a real shindig planned – like I said, a celebration of his life. Music, games, speeches, remembrances – Margaery’s in charge of the itinerary. You’re going to enjoy yourself. It’s what he would have wanted.’

‘You keep a lovely home,’ I told him.

‘Wait ‘til you see the grounds!’ said Guy Morrigen, joining the conversation. ‘He’s got a maze, a landscape garden-‘

‘And stables?’ interjected Tyrion.

‘You into horseflesh, Mister Lannister?’ asked Guy. If he was, it was the first I’d ever heard of it. ‘Bryce has some real runners. Want me to show you?’

‘I’d appreciate that very much,’ said Tyrion. ‘No, it’s alright, Jaime. You’ll be bored senseless. Stay and mingle.’

I did as I was bid, and let Morrigen led him away. I drifted around the room, feeling a little out of place, until Margaery Tyrell found me and clasped my hands.

‘Captain,’ she said, with a radiant smile. ‘You _were_ kind to come. The programme’s going to start in about ten minutes.’ She glanced back at her brother. ‘May I ask how your investigations are going?’

I tried to answer her question while remaining discreet. ‘We’ve questioned some more suspects. As things stand, though, Brienne is still the favourite.’ The words left a rank taste in my mouth.

She nodded sympathetically. ‘People are capable of things you never imagined,’ she said. ‘You must have encountered a lot of that, in your line of work.’

‘How’s Loras doing?’ I asked, thinking about the revelations of the previous day.

Margaery gave a little sigh. ‘Devastated, of course.’ She pursed her lips. ‘I can’t stress enough how much we’re relying on your discretion in this matter. I think I told your brother too much.’

‘Baelish wasn’t involved,’ I told her. ‘That was some kind of deception. Look,’ I began. ‘There’s really no easy way to say this, but one of our suspects is your b-‘

We fell silent as the host approached.

‘Your brother has an eye for the ladies, Captain,’ said Caron, ‘Take a look out of the window.’

I turned in the direction indicated and saw my brother in the distance, talking with a tall short-haired woman in riding gear. As I watched, she burst into laughter. Tyrion wasn’t short of charm.

‘He certainly does,’ I said vaguely.

‘That’s Miss Stone,’ Caron remarked. ‘She runs the stables for me.’

‘Wouldn’t mind a crack at that myself,’ added Morrigen. ‘Always figured she wasn’t into stallions, if you take my meaning.’

‘Captain Lannister was telling us that Brienne Tarth is still the prime suspect,’ interjected Margaery, perhaps keen to steer the conversation in a more respectable direction.

‘Yeah? Well, that’s about what I figured.’ He sucked his teeth. ‘Marg, everyone’s here who’s going to be here. Do you want to gather everyone in the drawing room?’

‘Miss Tarth was supposed to marry your brother,’ I said, after Margaery had bustled off.

‘Yeah,’ he said with a sigh. ‘Ronnie. Poor kid. She refused him, heaven only knows why. It wasn’t like she was going to get many better offers.’

‘Oh, really? I heard that your brother was the one who broke the betrothal?’

Caron’s jaw clenched. ‘Well… sure. Technically, I guess. She insulted him. To save face, he had no choice but to break it off. It comes down to her, however you slice it.’

‘So, there’s an upshot to all this for you,’ said Tyrion, who had walked unnoticed back into the house. ‘At least the woman who drove your brother to suicide will be sent to the gallows.’

‘Jesus!’ said Caron, too loudly. Heads turned to him from all around the room. He leaned in closer to Tyrion. ‘Look, pal,’ he whispered. ‘Let me make a couple of things clear. First, our families made it up. My pa still writes to hers. We even went on holiday together, the year after all that! Second, even if I _was_ happy about her situation, I think the death of my _friend_ would kind of put that in the shade! What the hell kind of detective _are_ you?’

The tension was broken by Margaery Tyrell, who clapped her hands for attention in the drawing room doorway. ‘Everyone! Let’s go on through. Anyone giving a reading, you’ve got five minutes to prepare yourselves!’ An excited buzz went around the room, and half the guests started fumbling for pieces of paper.

‘That was a little tactless,’ I chided Tyrion, as the guests filed past us.

‘I suppose so. Go on into the drawing room, brother. I have everything I need. In ten minutes, I will come in, and there will be a great commotion. Keep an eye on Loras Tyrell. He may attempt something foolish.’

With that, he was gone.

We were listening to Edmund Ambrose telling a story about a riotous night out in Soho, when Tyrion reappeared as promised. With him, still in her unpleasant grey smock, was Brienne Tarth, looking pale and anxious. She had been freed from her handcuffs. Two policemen entered the room behind them. Superintendent Tarly completed the group.

Ambrose broke off in mid-sentence.

‘Oh, you have got to be _kidding_ me,’ said Caron, standing up in shock. His reaction was mirrored by most of the gathered company. Tyrion waited until the susurrus had died down.

‘I thought Miss Tarth might want one last look at Renly’s body,’ he said, as if it were an utterly commonplace occurrence.

‘To see what she’s done, you mean?’ demanded Loras. ‘So she can see what she took from us?’

‘Perhaps… and perhaps not. You see, Mister Tyrell, Brienne is not the killer.’

At that moment, my brother had the undivided attention of the entire room.

‘I have been searching, most assiduously, for someone with the motive to kill Renly. I have found nothing. Save, perhaps, his brother, but we have already eliminated him from consideration. It is as you said at the very start, Jaime – nobody wanted to kill the old boy. Well – and I regret that it took me so long to realise this! – if nobody _wanted_ to kill him, then the only possibility remaining is that he was killed by mistake.’

‘Recollect. The room is plunged into darkness. The killer has been out in the brightly lit corridor, doubtless playing with the junction box to achieve the desired effect. When he advances into the darkened room, he can see almost nothing. He dimly perceives two figures, both of them – I hope you will forgive me saying so, Miss Tarth! – with a manly, broad-shouldered shape. In his haste and blindness, he simply chooses the wrong one. Renly was not the killer’s target, Miss Tarth. _You_ were.’

‘No,’ protested Loras. ‘Renly was suffocated. The lights were only out for a few seconds. Even if there was some mystery man, he wouldn’t have had time.’

‘Men can suffocate in different ways,’ replied Tyrion blandly. ‘The killer injected Renly with a certain chemical – the syringe left only a tiny, near-invisible mark. The doctors found no trace of poison, it is true. But I am not thinking of poison, precisely. There is a drug – a most powerful paralytic. It works quickly. At first Renly feels only a chill in his body – he complains of the cold! – then his muscles grow rigid. His teeth clamp down on his tongue and he spits blood. He cannot move, he cannot cry out, soon he cannot even breathe. He falls into Miss Tarth’s arms, a dead weight – and dies shortly afterwards, asphyxiated.’

A wondering hush had fallen on the room.

‘What a terrible way to die,’ murmured Margaery.

‘Indeed,’ continued Tyrion. ‘In its way, more cruel than the knife or the gun. The best-known muscle paralytic is, of course, curare, which takes effect slowly, and leaves telltale traces in the bloodstream. There are other drugs… less familiar to the public at large. I am thinking of one that might be known to someone who keeps horses. That is why I consulted with Miss Stone at the stables earlier. The stuff is used to put down injured animals. It is called… _Gallamine_.’

Brienne gave a start.

‘Who can say whether the name of the drug inspired the crime, or whether the idea came first, and the substance chosen for the coincidence of the name? Some murderers do like _portentousness_. They like _symbolism_.’ He shook his head in a displeased manner. ‘For instance - a man who has lost a brother, might take it upon himself to steal away the brother of the person he blames for his loss. All very Biblical.’

Lord Caron showed iron self-control. He reached forward, and, with deliberate movements, stubbed out his cigarette. He leaned back in his chair and gave my brother a hard look.

‘You’re not a man to throw such notions around pell-mell,’ he said, choosing his words carefully. ‘I would expect you to have some kind of proof.’

‘For the old crime, no. For this one… perhaps. Renly’s body can be re-examined, now that the coroner knows what to look for. Miss Stone has given a statement about items missing from her medicine cabinet, and persons who used the stables that day. All circumstantial, you might say – but enough to get the authorities looking in the right direction. It would be only a matter of time before they found something more conclusive.’

‘We’ll see,’ said Caron shortly. He drew himself up and stalked over to the doors, giving the police sergeant a brisk nod as he passed. The officers hesitated before following him out.

‘What the hell was that?’ demanded Morrigen, after a confused silence.

Tyrion continued as if nothing had happened. ‘You reacted to the suggestive name, Miss Tarth. As one would expect. I believe the same method was used to dispose of your poor brother, two years ago. We cannot repeat the post-mortem, so we will never know for certain. But for a champion swimmer to drown in waters he has known all his life? Even with those treacherous tides, that his lordship so frequently referred to? Tyrion Lannister does not like coincidences.’

‘That was not the end – how could it be? A man who has escaped justice for one murder is so much more likely to commit another. The killer thought his grievance with Miss Tarth was settled – until she turned up at Stag Studios, taunting him with her presence every single day. He decides, all too readily, that a second murder is necessary.’

‘The killer soon realises his mistake – he has killed the wrong person. But, he reflects, things will work themselves out. Miss Tarth is not dead by his hand, as he intended, but will soon be dead by the hangman’s rope. An acceptable outcome. He quickly sets to work muddying the issue.’ He gave a grim smile. ‘Making himself up as Baelish – very good! A less inspired murderer might have simply _said_ that he saw the man in the studios. Our murderer ensured that the gateman saw ‘Baelish’ on his way out, so the matter did not rest on his word alone. And he also made sure that Madame d’Asshai was never far from our minds. Two unorthodox characters who had known issues with the dead man. The chances of the police finding their way through that fog were slim.’

‘No offence meant, Superintendent,’ he added hastily.

Tarly’s face remained impassive. ‘I can hardly credit it – but it adds up. We’ll question Caron and see what he has to say. I suggest the rest of you say your goodbyes to the dead man, and make your way home. The party’s over.’

‘Superintendent,’ I said carefully, ‘what about Miss Tarth?’

‘She’s going back to her cell, of course,’ he replied breezily. ‘I’m not going to release a suspected murderess on your brother’s word alone.’

Brienne gave me an unreadable look as they led her back out.

The guests filtered out slowly. As we passed through the main doors out into the driveway, we could see that a few groups were lingering, conversing in frantic whispers as they tried to come to terms with what had just taken place.

Most of them were content to give us scandalised glances, but somewhat to my surprise, Loras Tyrell approached and offered us a cigarette.

‘Can it be true?’ He sounded shocked. ‘ _Bryce_ was the real killer?’

‘By accident, yes,’ said Tyrion. ‘I must confess, I have no idea whether that would make you feel better or worse.’

Tyrell looked around, lost, then stared down at his injured hand. ‘Then I tried to kill an innocent woman… or have her killed…’

‘Anyone would have done the same,’ I said. It was a lie, but it came easily enough, and I could see he was grateful for it.

His eyes had settled on Brienne’s police van, as it rattled down the drive. ‘I don’t want to go on with any of this,’ he said. ‘He was _everything_ to me. How can I look in a dressing room mirror again? And Baelish will most likely hound _me_ now. My career…’

I flicked my head at Tyrion, and he made an excuse and left.

‘Loras,’ I began, ‘you’re hardly the first gentleman to be pursued by _rumours_ of this kind. And not the first to have a broken heart, either. Perhaps the thing to do would to be go away for a few years, until it all blows over.’ I remembered something I’d read in the _Who’s Who of the Silver Screen_. ‘You’re an aviator, aren’t you?’

‘I’ve been up for a few spins,’ he said uncertainly.

‘I still have friends in the services,’ I told him. ‘I could probably arrange a commission for you. Let the papers talk about how adventurous and patriotic you are. Somewhere warm and sunny, a long way from here.’

‘Abroad? Margaery…’ he began.

‘… will soon find herself a new beau. She doesn’t strike me as someone you need to be worried about.’

‘I’ll consider it,’ he said in the end.

 

*

 

‘Well, there we are,’ said Tyrion brightly, once we arrived back at the apartment. ‘An innocent woman saved from the gallows, and a double murderer to be sent to them. Remind me to call at the station, to make sure they conduct the interrogation properly.’ He shed his scarf and bow tie, but kept his coat on. ‘You were quite right about Miss Tarth, Jaime. Check me the next time I disparage your evaluation of a woman.’

‘Oh, I will,’ I replied, with a reluctant laugh. ‘What now?’

‘Now, brother, I feel the need for some very intense… relaxation. I’m going to see if Madame Shae can find time for me. Don’t wait up,’ he added, already in the hallway.

I wandered around Tyrion’s rooms all night, curiously restless. I flicked the wireless on and off, poured myself a few brandies, and eventually dozed off in one of Tyrion’s armchairs. It must have been nine in the morning when I was roused by a knock at the door.

My first thought was that my brother had returned, either having misplaced his keys, or having gotten insensibly drunk… but it wasn’t Tyrion.

Brienne Tarth stood there, wearing a rather well-fitted blue jacket and matching skirt, her untidy hair smoothed back with pomade.

‘You’re free,’ I said stupidly.

She blushed. ‘Since the small hours of this morning. Caron broke down and confessed. The superintendent let me go... with some unsolicited advice about my future personal conduct. I went home to change and bathe.’

‘Your father-‘

‘Has no idea what happened. The police promised that my name wouldn’t be released. If anyone asks why they couldn’t reach me these last few days, I’ll tell them I was inconsolable with grief.’

She hovered in the doorway, as if she meant to flee at any second. ‘I wanted to thank you,’ she began. ‘For believing me. I don’t know why the two of you became involved, but I’m grateful.‘

‘Credit Podrick Payne for that,’ I said.

She gave a surprising burst of laughter. ‘Podrick? Really? I’ll have to find a way to thank him, too.’

The conversation died away, and we stood in a slightly awkward silence.

‘Well, Captain,’ she began. ‘I suppose I should-‘

‘Do you have any plans for today?’ I interrupted her.

Brienne opened and closed her mouth. ‘I… Renly’s new picture has opened. I’d been excited to see it for months, but… after all this, I don’t think…’

‘Oh, really,’ I said. ‘It’s a pleasant day outside. Seems a shame to waste it cooped up in some dingy picture house. There’s a very good golf course not far from here – why don’t we go out and hit a few?’

A calculating look slowly settled on her features. ‘That… all depends. Do you think your pride could stand being beaten by a woman?’

I had to laugh at her pluck. ‘I expect so,’ I said. ‘Do you think yours could survive being beaten by an invalid?’

She smiled, bright-eyed, and I reflected that perhaps Miss Tarth wasn't so homely after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gallamine is a real paralytic. It's not used to put down horses, but similar drugs have been.
> 
> So - that's two baffling murders solved. Next time, Tyrion and Jaime are going to be called in to tackle a simple theft. 
> 
> (Did I say simple?)


End file.
